


Feel Your Warmth (feels like home)

by LeapAngstily



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, PWP - Porn with Peerlo, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Prostate Massage, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-22
Updated: 2014-01-22
Packaged: 2018-01-09 14:37:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1147153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeapAngstily/pseuds/LeapAngstily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A romantic birthday picnic – although not exactly a picnic and not really on his birthday either. And romance is for girls anyways.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feel Your Warmth (feels like home)

**Author's Note:**

> Belated smut fic for Monto’s birthday. I was supposed to finish this by Saturday but you know how hard it is to write anything during the weekends – so many interesting matches on!
> 
> Set on Sunday night after Milan–Verona, i.e. one day after Monto’s actual birthday.
> 
> The title comes from the Depeche Mode song _Here Is The House_.

Riccardo can see the dim light in his apartment window as soon as he parks the car and steps into the biting night breeze. It is a clear enough signal that Andrea is waiting for him even without the text he received earlier.  
  
 _”Does the old lady next door still got your spare key? xx”_  
  
Riccardo is fairly sure Andrea has learned the use of  _x_ ’s and  _o_ ’s from his children. Even with all the new technology, he still rarely sends as much as a plain text message unless it is absolutely necessary.  
  
The match at San Siro had been followed by the obligatory birthday dinner with friends he had missed the previous night due to the game preparations. It is late and Riccardo is absolutely exhausted, wanting nothing more than to curl in bed with Andrea and sleep for the next hundred years.  
  
His wish is obviously not going to be granted tonight, because Andrea needs to be back in Turin in the morning, and neither of them knows when they will have time to meet up next.  
  
“I’m home,” his tone is flat and he kicks his shoes off in silent protest to the obligatory ‘quality time’ awaiting him.  
  
The living room is lit with candles – dozens of them – and the sofa has been moved to make more room to a plaid picnic blanket spread on the floor. The blanket is covered with cushions collected from around the apartment.   
  
Two champagne glasses are set in the middle of the blanket. All that is missing is a picnic basket, the wine – and Andrea.  
  
Riccardo leaves the almost-idyllic setting and follows the reading lamp’s light shining from the bedroom door. Andrea is half-sitting on the bed a book in his hands, the pillows propped against the headboard, and fast asleep as far as Riccardo can tell.  
  
“Such a romantic you are,” he whispers as he walks over to plug the book out of Andrea’s lap and leans in to press a kiss on top of his head. Andrea’s hair smells good as ever, although Riccardo notes a change of shampoo as he takes in the half-familiar scent.  
  
He returns to the living room to blow off the candles – they can have their picnic some other day, when they are both more up to it – before heading to the bathroom for a quick shower.  
  
Andrea is awake by the time he returns to the bedroom with a towel snug around his hips. He is blinking away the last of his sleep, obviously still disoriented from the unplanned nap.  
  
“Stay where you are,” Riccardo warns him when the situation catches up with him and he makes a move to get up, “I’m too tired to be romantic tonight.”  
  
The harshness of his tone only registers in his brain once the words are out of his mind and Andrea halts his movement. Fuck, the last thing he wants to start right now is an argument.  
  
“I appreciate the gesture though,” he assures Andrea quickly – a bit too quickly perhaps – and leans down to give him a decidedly unromantic peck on the lips before turning to rummage his drawer for a clean pair of briefs.  
  
“Come here, you,” is all the warning Riccardo gets before he is pulled down to bed and into a flailing pile of limbs and covers. He would claim for an unfair advantage when Andrea wins the impromptu wrestling match were it not for the lips claiming his the moment he stops struggling.  
  
“Now shut up,” Andrea growls against his lips when they part to catch their breaths, “And let me celebrate your last year being young and pretty.”  
  
Riccardo snorts very un-sexily and rubs their noses together, “I’m not gonna be pretty anymore?”  
  
Andrea laughs into Riccardo’s mouth as he leans into another kiss before answering, “Of course you are. You’ll be  _old_  and pretty.”  
  
The towel is miraculously still between them, but not for long as Andrea uses the following kiss to distract Riccardo and pulls off the interfering cloth. Riccardo gasps against his lips at the sudden contact against his groin.  
  
“Seriously, I’m beat,” he tries one last time, although his fingers tangled in Andrea’s hair and slowly hardening erection are obviously betraying him, “And we got a game on Wednesday. Need to be ready for training.”  
  
“Gotta be extra careful then. Clarence’ll kill me if you’re hurt tomorrow,” Andrea hums with a bemused smile as he lift himself up from Riccardo’s legs to pull off his own clothing – just sweats and a T-shirt, as if he were at his own home instead of Riccardo’s.  
  
“I’ll be sure to blame you,” the last word is swallowed up in a yawn Riccardo has been fighting all night, “Can we just get this over with?”  
  
Andrea clicks his tongue disapprovingly and kicks off his pants before crawling back on top of Riccardo, “And here I was trying to do something romantic for you.”  
  
“Romance is for girls,” Riccardo bites out but easily wraps his arms around Andrea’s shoulders nonetheless, “Or maybe holidays. Too much fuss anyways.”  
  
“Youngsters there days…” Andrea sniggers quietly and busies himself with Riccardo’s neck, dropping playful kisses around his pulse point, hardening the contact only once Riccardo throws his head back to give him more leverage.  
  
They both know Riccardo is complaining only for the sake of it – Andrea is the only person who lets him get away with being whiney, usually more than happy to put in his best effort just to prove him wrong.  
  
Riccardo is slowly dragged away from his annoyance, into a relaxed state, almost out of this world, almost dreaming, almost, almost—and then Andrea runs a hand down his belly and grasps his erection softly, pulling him back into this moment.  
  
A buck of his hips against the calloused hand, a soft whine demanding more contact, an exasperated “Could you hurry it up a bit?” hissed between gasps of air as Andrea rubs a thumb against the head of his cock between the gentle caresses along the whole length.  
  
Andrea bites the juncture of his neck and shoulder in response, eliciting a surprised moan, all the while working him into full hardness with languid, deliberate strokes.  
  
“Turn around,” he finally orders when Riccardo is about to lash out again – he is practically shaking with suppressed arousal, the contact not enough to push him over the edge – and catches his eyes with a level look when he is about to protest, “Just let me enjoy this – you – for a while.”  
  
Riccardo complies with a theatrical sigh and a roll of his eyes, making sure Andrea knows he is only doing this to indulge  _him_. Although lying on his belly is actually quite comfortable, with his face pressed into the blankets and his cock nestled against the pillows lifting his butt for better access.  
  
“Just remember. The training,” he throws an impish smile over his shoulder, “Won’t forgive you if I gotta run with a limp.”  
  
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Andrea assures him and kisses the small of his back gently as if to close the deal. He is fondling Riccardo’s buttocks almost absentmindedly, like trying to decide what he would like to do the most. Riccardo groans impatiently and bucks his hips against the pillows – still not enough.  
  
Andrea slaps his thigh softly to stop him from moving, then presses a kiss on his left buttock while rubbing the right one with circular strokes. He waits patiently until Riccardo settles down again, dropping odd kisses around his buttocks and thighs, warm breath caressing the skin under his lips.  
  
Then, once Riccardo is starting to relax again, he spreads the buttocks and blows carefully towards his entrance, the breath sending chills running up his spine.   
  
Riccardo has just enough sense to be grateful he decided to take a shower beforehand – like he has not been paranoid over his hygiene ever since they became involved – but the passing sense of rationality is long gone when Andrea licks his entrance experimentally.  
  
It does not feel like much at first, not really, and yet Andrea’s every lick around his hole makes Riccardo’s insides churn. His erection is getting even harder if possible; his whole  _body_  is reacting and he is not quite sure why.  
  
 _Stop thinking_ , he tells himself,  _Don’t think why it feels good, just feel it_.  
  
And as soon as he follows his own advice, closes his eyes and just takes the sensations in, he can actually feel the sparks of arousal running through his body, the pleasure that is all concentrated on Andrea’s tongue on his entrance, alternating between precise circular motions and slow, long licks.  
  
Riccardo’s brain barely registers that he is moaning out loud, pressing back against Andrea’s mouth, trying to take all that is offered to him at once.  
  
Andrea chuckles at his eagerness, the trembles going straight to Riccardo’s cock. He halts his actions to drop another kiss to the small of his back, “Still eager to  _get it over with_ , Riccardo?”  
  
The way Andrea draws out his name, like caressing every syllable, send new chills down his back, and Riccardo has to hide his face in the covers to stop himself from cursing aloud. His whine is still audible when Andrea replaces his mouth with his fingers, rubbing the entrance firmly which in contrast to the softness of his tongue is almost painful.  
  
“Gimme the lube.”  
  
It does not even occur to Riccardo to protest, the training and Italian Cup and his new coach long since blown away from his mind. He grabs the bottle from the nightstand and hands it over to Andrea.  
  
He gets stuck staring over his shoulder: Andrea’s lips are shining with saliva and his eyes are fixed on Riccardo, like he has never seen anything so beautiful. He opens the bottle with one hand and pours the lube over his fingers still stroking Riccardo’s entrance.  
  
The cold sensation of the lube subsides quickly as Andrea spreads it around his hole, and the resistance is barely there when he finally pushes one finger inside.  
  
Riccardo slumps against the mattress with a soft hum, enjoying the familiar feeling of being fingered. He presses back against Andrea’s hand just slightly, letting him know there is no discomfort, urging him to add another finger.  
  
Andrea complies with his silent demand, but instead of their normal stretching routine, he merely twists his fingers inside of Riccardo, slowly mapping his way until he hits the prostate. Riccardo is not fast enough to muffle his whimper, and he can feel Andrea’s laughter against his back where he is still dropping lazy kisses.  
  
Riccardo has to grip the sheets beneath his fingers in attempt to stay put, afraid Andrea might stop rubbing his insides  _just there_  if he disturbs him. His eyes are watering with the effort and his breath is coming out in short gasps, mixed with odd moans and whines he fails to hide.  
  
He strains his neck to look at Andrea, to tell him he is about to come, all he needs is for Andrea to touch his abandoned cock before it bursts with denied release.  
  
Andrea meets Riccardo’s eyes right away, pure lust meeting its equal. He is stroking his own erection with his free hand – fast, uneven jerks – and as if that view and the firm massage on his prostate were not enough for Riccardo, Andrea leans down to circle the flesh around his entrance with his tongue again.  
  
The orgasm comes in waves, his whole body trembling and breath hitching. His come stains the pillows beneath him and his back arches with the strength of the release until he drops back to the mattress with a spent sob.  
  
Andrea presses against his back with a grunt, his own come hitting the backs of Riccardo’s thighs almost immediately after him.  
  
They lay like that for a long time, entangled in each other on the spoiled sheets, trying to catch their breaths enough to speak.  
  
“Wow,” Riccardo finally breathes out, “Happy birthday to me, huh?”  
  
Andrea lets out a raspy laugh and finally drags them both up and into the bathroom – the third shower for Riccardo this evening.  
  
“I had much more planned for tonight,” Andrea admits as he rinses away the remains of lube and sperm from Riccardo’s backside, nuzzling the hair at the back of his neck gently, “There’s champagne in the fridge. And a cake, your favourite kind. And I bought roses as well; Angela said roses are a must.”  
  
Riccardo presses his back against Andrea, his head leant comfortably on his shoulder and eyes curious, “You consult your 7-year-old daughter about relationship stuff?”  
  
“When it comes to romance, yes.”  
  
Riccardo’s teasing laughter is interrupted by a sudden yawn that stretches on and on.  
  
“Bedtime, then?” Andrea asks softly, combing his fingers through Riccardo’s dark curls as he turns off the shower. He answers Riccardo’s concurring hum by pulling him into a long, languid kiss – Riccardo can taste the mouthwash on his tongue – before letting him go collect clean towels for them.


End file.
